


revel in the darkness like a pair of open graves

by advantagetexas



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 15:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11084676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/advantagetexas/pseuds/advantagetexas
Summary: “You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.” – Cormac McCarthy, The RoadIt was an unconventional mark to have. After all, your mark was supposed to be your soulmate’s first thought after seeing you for the first time. Not some joke like “Pretty clean for an outlaw”. Vasquez kept his mark covered at all times. It was shameful, almost, that this mark had predicted the way his life would lead before he even had a chance.





	revel in the darkness like a pair of open graves

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "Rain in Soho" by The Mountain Goats, aka one of the best bands in existence

“You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.” – Cormac McCarthy, The Road

 

It was an unconventional mark to have. After all, your mark was supposed to be your soulmate’s first thought after seeing you for the first time. Not some joke like “Pretty clean for an outlaw”. Vasquez kept his mark covered at all times. It was shameful, almost, that this mark had predicted the way his life would lead before he even had a chance. He almost resented it sometimes, the way it had known before he had. He had thought this right up until he had been basically conscripted into Sam Chisolm’s militia.

One of the men already travelling with Chisolm was a tall man, who seemed just as out of place as any of them. Solo otro guero, he thought to himself, rolling his eyes as the man threw some half joking insult his way.

“So what’s your story?” the man asked, much later, as they were travelling down a trail toward the next city.

“Why do you care?” Vasquez answered succinctly.

“Just curious about the folks we’re picking up for this job, is all. Gotta know if the guy beside you really has your back.”

“Hm, that’s a fair point, guero,” Vasquez said, taking a small bit of pride in seeing the man’s face shift into one of confusion. “My family used to be farmers, in the valley,” he explained, “But we were driven out by settlers, scattered to the winds of Texas.”

“And the outlaw gig?” the man pried.

“You do what you have to to survive,” Vasquez said with a shrug. The man seemed to take this as a valid answer, not asking anymore questions, simply keeping pace.

“My name’s Joshua, by the way. Joshua Faraday,” he said finally, just as the last light was leaving the sky.

“Lee Vasquez,” Vasquez replied, and Faraday nodded.

\--------

“No, no, no, you have to come back, that can’t be real. Esto no puede ser cierto, no lo creeré, no,” Vasquez whispered to himself, trying desperately to rub the second mark off the skin of his forearm. It had just appeared, a loud bang in the distance heralding its carving.

The words “I never did tell him about the mark” were pulsing on his skin, the black ink fading in and out of existence. Perhaps that meant there was still time.

The town was nearly empty now, the siege over. Bodies lay in every corner of the street, both Bogue’s men and townsfolk. There had been many good men lost today, but with god as his witness, Vasquez was not about to give Joshua Faraday back just yet.

He vaulted the window of the church, making a dash for the still smoldering remains of the Gatling gun. His arm was warm, the fabric of his sleeve sticking to his skin, damp with blood, but he barely noticed. His sole focus was finding the still alive man he knew was somewhere in the tall grass. He looked down at the mark on his arm again. It was darker this time, fading in a deep black, then disappearing.

He sprinted faster toward the gun, toward the clearing of bloodied men slumped over machinery. There, near the front of it, was one casualty that looked different from the rest. He was slumped forward, shrapnel ridden hands covering the back of his neck. Vasquez fell to his knees beside him, prying his hands apart.

“Faraday? ¿Qué te ha hecho Dios, amor mío?” he whispered, almost under his breath. He rolled Faraday onto his side, a pang of fear rising in his throat when he saw that the other man’s eyes were still closed, face drawn in a grim death mask. Vasquez could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, he scratched the now blank section of his forearm with enough strength to break skin, the grief almost beginning to set in.

“You know damn well I don’t speak Spanish,” came the shaky reply, and Vasquez’s eyes shot back open. Faraday had twisted, fallen onto his back, and was reaching out, putting a hand weakly on Vasquez’s knee.

Vasquez almost wanted to slap him. That glib sense of self-righteousness had followed Faraday even to the point of death. God, how he loved this man.

“We need to get you back, to a doctor,” Vasquez insisted, putting an arm under Faraday’s shoulders and knees, trying to lift him off the ground. His arm, however, was not cooperating. The harder he tried to lift, the more it burned and shot jolts of pain into his chest.

“Just leave me here, they’ll see us eventually,” Faraday groaned as Vasquez tried and failed again. “’s not that bad, anyway.”

“You’ve been shot many times, you need medical attention,” Vasquez tries to argue, but Faraday just puts up a bloody hand to quiet him.

“I managed to save my face, that’s all that’s important,” he said, in a way that would almost be joking if he wasn’t half dead. Vasquez just sighed, leaning down over him protectively, pressing a kiss to his, admittedly in-tact forehead.

“You are a motherfucker,” he said simply, and Faraday cough-laughed in response. “You never told me.”

“I thought you knew. I knew from the first time I saw you,” he replied, smiling like the sun, even now.

“That’s how it’s supposed to work, hermoso idiota.”

“Never claimed to be a smart man,” Faraday replied.

“You scared me,” Vasquez continued, “It…my second mark…”

“I’m sorry,” Faraday responded, for once serious.

“If you had really died without telling me,” Vasquez scolded, “I would have followed you into hell, and I would have screamed your head off, guero, make no mistake.”

“Well then it’s a good thing I didn’t. Maybe the next time I’ll be able to leave you with something better. I’ll think something that you’ll be embarrassed to show in public,” Faraday joked, a hint of seriousness behind his usual harlequin grin.

“No, no more talk of dying. The doctor will be here soon, and it will be many years before I see another letter show up on my skin.”

“I hope so,” Faraday responded with a sigh, tearing his eyes away to look up at the clear sky, the sun shining down warmly on his face. “Today would have been a good day to die.”

“Today is a good day to live,” Vasquez replied, looking out across the field, seeing Sam and the town doctor rushing toward them. “Today we are going to live, Faraday.”


End file.
